Such A Cliche
by nyssa123
Summary: Alternate Universe. Arthur is a hooker. Eames is the cop who wants to save him.


Woohoo, Alternate Universe fic! I never write these, right? -sarcasm mode-

Written for a prompt over at the livejournal kink meme.

I own nothing. No, just kidding, I'm actually Christopher Nolan in disguise. I'm snowballing ideas for my next movie. What do you guys think, should Arthur be a hooker in the sequel?

* * *

"My dad was a cop." Arthur takes a drag on the post-coital cigarette, sucking smoke deep into his lungs before letting it out in a sigh. He hands it to Eames. "DPD. Dalton Police Department, Elmore County Idaho."

"Oh?" Eames has only been half-listening up to this point, but the mention of police is enough to get his attention.

"Mm." Arthur scratches at his chest lazily, leaving red marks across his sallow skin and raising the hairs on the back of Eames' neck. "He was a sergeant. Spent years trying to get promoted to lieutenant. Eventually he did, got a nice new uniform, shit like that. When I was... damn, I can't remember... when I was twelve, he tried to stop a robbery at the 7-11 down the street from our house and got his head blown off."

Eames winces. "Jesus."

"Yeah." Arthur leans back on the pillows and looks contemplative for a second. Then he grabs the cigarette out of Eames' hand and holds it to his lips. "Have you ever been shot?"

"No." Eames frowns. "Well, there was this one time, but the guy really only grazed me."

Arthur stubbs the butt out on the tarnished metal ashtray and drapes himself over Eames, stroking the older man's stubbled cheek with the back of his hand. "Tell me about it."

"It wasn't very glamorous, darling." He smiles and rubs his thumb in circles on Arthur's shoulder. "Just some crackhead who somehow managed to get a hold of a gun."

"Hmm." Arthur sits up and pushes a hand through his hair. It's dark and soft, and bereft of gel and product it's falling into his eyes. "Crackheads are highly irritating."

Eames stares at him for a long moment. "How did you end up here, anyway?"

"You called Saito, he gave your message to Cobb, Cobb told me, I put extra condoms in my pocket, and I got a cab to the hotel." Arthur blinks.

"Seriously." Eames frowns. "You're smart. You're young. You're perfectly able to get a real job or go back to school. Why are you doing this?"

Arthur's shoulders sag. "Not this again."

"I just don't like seeing you being wasted here."

The younger man stands abruptly and tugs on his boxer shorts, crossing the room to look out the window, away from Eames and the bed. The cream colored sheets are in a pile on the floor, and outside the city makes its nighttime symphony heard. It's hot and sticky, and the breeze that blows the gauzy curtains in is a welcome change from the summer heat. Arthur looks paler than usual, his skinny body illuminated only by the glow of the streetlights and buildings outside and sending his ribs and face into shadow.

"I don't know, Eames. It's just how things are."

"That's a stupid excuse and you know it." Eames digs in the crumpled packet on the bedside table and digs out another cigarette. "You could be doing a million other things right now, but instead you're spending your nights in skeezy hotel rooms getting fucked by middle aged men who forget to take off their wedding rings and leave the money in the waistband of your underwear."

"Actually they usually just put it on the minibar."

"Whatever." Eames waves his hands around dismissively. "Specifics. Couldn't you just stop? Become a waiter or something?"

Arthur makes a face. "I don't want to be a waiter. I hate people." He walks back to the bed and sits down. "Anyway, I get much better tips doing this than I ever did waiting tables."

"It is, however, slightly illegal." Eames raises an eyebrow. "In case you hadn't noticed. Darling."

Arthur hits him with a pillow. "Give me that cigarette."

Eames complies. "We're going to smoke ourselves into early graves."

"Well, we're going to end up there somehow, nicotine or not. We lead high risk lives."

"I'd prefer to stick around." Eames guides the slim man's head into his lap and pets his hair absentmindedly. "Anyway, why would anyone want to kick the bucket early?"

"'Live fast, die young, leave a beautiful corpse.'" Arthur shrugs. "It worked for Marilyn, James, and Kurt."

"Very morbid, darling."

"You should have seen me in high school." Arthur closes his eyes and inhales deeply, pulling smoke out of the cigarette like a magician pulling endless scarves from someone's pocket.

"Yes, well." Eames leans over him. "Come away with me."

Arthur cracks an eyelid. "So cliche, Eames. Try again."

"Fine. Let's escape."

"Better. One last time, for good luck."

"Let me save you."

Arthur laughs and sits up, turning and cupping Eames face in his palms. "Don't be crazy, Eames. I don't need saving." He presses a soft kiss to his lips. "I don't need to escape. I don't need someone to take me away."

"Well Christ, give me something to work with." Eames kneads the bridge of his nose. "I'm no good at this. I usually just give people parking tickets and do paperwork. I'm not good with this sort of thing."

"You've got a pretty good excuse. I don't think, 'convincing whores to run away' is a very popular past time these days. I can't blame for not having practice."

Eames snorts. "I suppose." He takes hold of Arthur's hands. "Look. Just tell Saito you quit, come back to my place, and never leave. It's really not that complicated."

Arthur shoots him a suspicious look. "Will I have to be a waiter?"

Eames laughs. "No, I'm sure we can get you a job somewhere other than the restaurant industry."

"Well then, Lieutenant Eames, I don't think I have any choice." He grins and wraps his arms around the officer's neck, breath hot against his cheek.

"Arrest me."


End file.
